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A Mountain Lake Teeming With Myths

By MELANIE WALLACE

Published: January 10, 1999

THE first staggering views of Lake Titicaca come just after the ferry crossing of the Strait of Tiquina. The short trip across this relatively narrow section of Titicaca is deceptive: The lake appears to be, well, a lake. Ten minutes later I'm on a bus climbing a crest of the La Paz-Copa cabana road. Far below I see an endless expanse of Aegean-blue, island-studded water -- Lake Titicaca seems, quite suddenly, a sea.

With a surface area of over 3,200 square miles, this Andean snow-fed lake is, in fact, a remnant of an ancient inland sea that covered much of what is now the Bolivian Altiplano. South America's second-largest freshwater lake (after Lake Maracaibo in Venezuela) and at more than 12,500 feet one of the world's highest navigable bodies of water, Titicaca forms part of the Bolivian-Peruvian border. The Incas considered the lake -- and its Isla del Sol -- to be the birthplace of creation: In their mythology, the god Viracocha emerged from the waters and made the sun, the moon and the stars, and ordered the sun to follow a course from east to west.

The bus does the same on this day in early March, trailing the afternoon sun west to Copacabana, a small lakeside town with a view toward the Peruvian sierra. Copa cabana is a centuries-old pilgrimage site, beginning with the Incas, and a popular stopover for travelers on their way to the Isla del Sol. Since the mid-16th century it has been known for its enormous Moorish-style cathedral that towers over the main square and houses a Virgin credited with numerous miracles.

When we arrive, the street in front of the cathedral is filled with flower-decked cars and minivans, their owners seeking the Virgin's protection on Bolivia's hazardous roads. I get off the bus and savor the irony: For me, all traffic ends here. The next morning I'll be on a boat to trek the Isla del Sol, which has no vehicles; after three days, I'll return to the hilly Manco Capac peninsula for the six-hour hike back to Copacabana.

Originally known as Titicachi (the Rock of the Puma), Isla del Sol is a destination for daily boat tours from Copacabana. When I debark at the first port, below Yumani, I discover I'm the only one not returning to the ferry. From the rocky beach a narrow, Inca-era stone staircase (the Escalera del Inca) ascends almost vertically more than a hundred feet, and alongside it streams of water tumble through artificially carved channels from a natural spring the Spaniards hoped was the Fountain of Youth. The upward hike at this altitude -- 12,500 feet -- is paced at a plod, given the children and llamas heading downward and my 15-pound backpack that holds a change of clothes, fleece pullover, jacket, sleeping bag, day pack, camping gas, bathing suit, camera, headlamp, rain poncho, medical supplies and two one-and-a-half-liter bottles of water. Because water on the island is not potable, I also have iodine tablets to replenish my supply safely.

Beyond Yumani, the village above the Inca staircase, I ask directions and head toward the shore trail (rather than the winding trail along a steep ridge in the center of the island). No one is surprised that I'm a woman trekking by myself: In the Bolivian countryside, solitary men and women cross entire landscapes on foot, with little concern for safety except for the elements. I'm experienced at hiking and trekking alone: I've walked parts of Chile, Vietnam, France and Greece by myself, and have always found solitary traveling a comforting way to experience other worlds. This is my first trip to Bolivia, and it proves no exception, though the countryside is less inhabited than any place I've ever been. I rely on my rusty Spanish, and though I encounter people who speak only Aymara and Quechua (I speak neither), there are always people -- especially children -- who speak Spanish.

Soon I'm alone on a path that winds through terraced pampas, small settlements and sweet-smelling fields of incense bush above the lake, with a breathtaking view of the spiny reach of Bolivia's snowcapped Cordillera Real beyond the lake's most distant shore.

By the time I descend into Cha'lla, my halfway mark, and trudge past its hostel and scattered homes on a deserted, white sandy beach, the sun is relentless and the temperature is in the mid-70's. I reflect on how fitting it was to worship the Inca sun god here, for even with a strong sun block, skin crisps under a cloudless sky.

At the end of the beach I ascend a smooth outcrop of rock and 50 feet beyond discover that eucalyptus trees shade the way. Before I know it I have climbed above the bay and catch a glimpse of Cha'llapampa, my destination and the only village on the island's northern end. The sun sparkles on tin roofs capping the blue and white houses that straddle Cha'llapampa's narrow isthmus, and the lake glistens.

Cha'llapampa is a midway stop for tourists who arrive by boat, then trek more than an hour to the island's most famous ruins, called both the Palacio del Inca and El Labarinto (The Labyrinth). As I enter the village, cows and donkeys graze the beach, while pigs scamper before children herding them along the shore. Opposite the empty ferry landing is Cha'llapampa's only storefront restaurant, with a half-dozen outdoor tables and benches. I drop my backpack and order a very late lunch. An Argentine student who has come from viewing El Labarinto joins me, and we dine well on Lake Titicaca's specialty: salmon trout, which is accompanied by rice and fried potatoes.